


Wolf Forest

by fadeverb



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale), Persona 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've been watching you for some time, Yumi. The forest is waiting for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



Our attention was first drawn to you on the television broadcast. Frankly, we never would have noticed you, if it weren't for the size of the city. The clip was one of several in a brief feature on student drama groups, and you weren't even the focus of the shot. You stood to one side in a poorly made red and black dress, the villain of the play, while other young actors emoted too hard at each other.

You were taking the work seriously; they were taking themselves seriously. We did notice the difference. We noticed you. Everyone around here pays attention when someone local shows up on the television. It makes us feel...oh, validated, perhaps. We believe ourselves to be more real when people we recognize show up on that screen. The physical world's so repetitive, so hazy, so full of banalities. What appears on the television matters. What shows up there is _real_.

Real enough.

We thought about you, and we discussed you, in a general sort of way. You had your moment of fame. And when we turned on the television at midnight, on a rainy night--

Oh. But you don't do that, do you? You're a sensible young woman. Focused. Practical. You heard the rumors going around, and dismissed them as preposterous. (We all thought the same thing ourselves, the very first time. We're not sure which one of us it was, who was the first to notice and tell another person. Perhaps we all heard the rumor at the same time, from someone who was sure they'd heard it from us. Something to think about.) You never once waited up, heart pounding, certain that it would all be a lie and yet not quite certain enough to resist taking a peek.

We all took our first peek once. We saw something.

Last night, we saw you.

We had speculated, before. The image was unclear. Some of us are in school, in your year, your class, your _club_. Oh yes. We have stood in that circle with you and watched you frown over your lines. We noticed when you stopped attending. Some of us heard why. A few of us have had our theories about--well. It doesn't matter now.

Last night, we saw you bright and clear. The lights flashed on, the music began, and there you stood in the center of the screen. A red cloak draped from your shoulders, a basket on your arm. The title appeared:

**Wolf Forest**

And much smaller, below that,

_Also featuring Your Parents, as Themselves_

"Take the path through the woods," you said, flipping a hood over your head. It shadowed your face, but not enough to keep your yellow eyes from shining through. "Stay on the path, follow the rules, and you'll be safe from the wolves."

We leaned nearer to the screen. Almost near enough to touch. You smiled at us with bright, white teeth.

"Stay on the _path_ ," you said, like you were spitting out the word. "Follow the _rules_ , all the way to mother's house, and you'll all be safe and sound! Do you believe that? Come along and see, little children. Let's be good. Let's do what our mother told us. Let's see what happens."

You spun around--we admired the way your cape belled out, a red apple under the studio lights--and ran into the forest.

#

The forest lay across the flanks of a mountain; the camera gave us an aerial view, spinning around to show the densely packed treetops, then zooming in to follow you as you ran along the path. Your cloak was a red beacon in the shadows.

"I'm not afraid of any wolves," you said, and we believed you. You spun and danced your way up the mountain. The yellow eyes watching you from the spaces between the trees--we could not help but compare them to your eyes--let you pass as if it were true. "Everything will be fine if I stay on the path, all the way to my mother's house."

You had been running along that path for days. Hours. (We have never been quite sure about the progression of time in these shows. Never mind that; we enjoy the programming. Wilder and more violent every time. Isn't that what modern audiences want?) We were almost _bored_ , when you suddenly spun around to point back down the path.

"Someone's coming," you said, and smiled with such sharp teeth. "Don't they know the rules?"

#

We are, by now, familiar with these people. We've enjoyed watching the group expand as these limited-run shows introduce each one in turn, and then end. As a whole, we have not come to any consensus about a single favorite, though the leader of the little group might be a contender in that area. Personally, I think--

Ah. No.

We beg your pardon. We have no consensus as to our favorite at this time. We simply enjoy watching them work together.

Let's catch up with the current broadcast.

#

The wolves spring out of the forest to attack the people chasing you. Wolves with the heads of men and women with the heads of wolves, wolves with enormous tongues and wolves with teeth of ice. They fling themselves on swords and knives and fans, they char under flames and shatter under the weight of frost. The boy with spiked hair calls lightning down on a pack of wolves, and smirks at the results.

Poor wolves, we say to each other. (We would never pretend we don't like the violence, but we can like it and sympathize at the same time. That's how stories work.) Poor wolves, only doing their jobs. These children must have broken some rules, or they never would have been attacked.

None of the wolves would dare attack you, with your yellow eyes. You have almost reached your mother's house, the basket clutched between your hands. No weapons, no defense but knowing the truth: that's you, through and through. You smile at the camera as you fling the door open.

"Mother," you say, "I'm home."

The group of children has almost caught up with you. They have a few more wolves to fight through (wolves in the shape of scales and tables and cloaked eyes, wolves who dance together and wolves who fire missiles from their mouths) before they're close enough--what? To stop you?

We don't think anything could stop you now.

You stand by the side of the bed. We seem to recall that there ought to be a grandmother there, or perhaps a wolf in a bonnet. Instead a man lies in the bed, his face pale, his eyes closed. He's barely breathing. Your knuckles are white where you grip the blanket, as if you might rip it away from him to reveal--what, exactly?

There's two of you. Let's pay attention to the one who doesn't look so distraught. (Violence is fun, but there's nothing entertaining about the way you look over there.) We focus on the girl in the red cape, red hood, the one who's smiling. The one with the yellow wolf eyes.

"I lied," you tell the camera, the boy with the sword, his friends behind him. Never mind those people: you're talking to us. We have all leaned nearer to our television again. We are all so close we're nearly ready to fall into that world with you. We have bought into your story completely. How thoroughly we believed you!

You throw back your head, and laugh. "I lied, because they lied to me."

("Stop it," you say, standing beside the bed, but your voice is so faint we can barely hear you. Didn't you say you were an actress? Shouldn't you be able to project better?)

"They lied! They said to follow the rules. They said that family meant something. They said that loyalty would pay off. I learned to lie because they did." You point to the bed. "My mother said to do it for her, and it was all for him. She said that I had to care, because I was his daughter. Do you think I care?"

Your teeth are sharper at every moment.

"Of course I care," you say. ("Stop," you say. You are pleading. You are not as interesting as the other you.) You spread your arms wide, and the walls of the little house in the woods fall away. The forest leans in just like we do, one forest and thousands of trees just like there's one _us_ and thousands of--we don't use that word. Never mind. We're watching. Branches reach down toward the bed, toward the less interesting you, towards the people who have come to stop you. "He left me! She betrayed me, and for what? For him! Tell the truth, now. You're a liar. You've been pretending all along. This is what parents are. They send you alone into the forest. They tell you it's going to be okay, and they're lying. They are waiting to eat you up."

"It's not true," you say.

"Still lying. Still pretending. You want to call it art, and it's all an act. Acting like everything's okay. Acting like it doesn't matter. It's time to tell the truth. Tell them that it doesn't matter what they want from you. They can't wring any more love out of you, after what they did."

"You don't know what you're talking about." You stand up straighter, your hands in fists. You think this is going to help, but we don't believe you anymore. The other you is so much more convincing.

"You're not the little girl who cried anymore," you say. "You're better than that. You're not going to take it any longer. They sent you out alone, but deep down? You're really the wolf, and you will _eat them up_."

You are silent. Maybe you've been convinced. Wouldn't that be easier?

You lean in towards yourself. "I know it's true. Because you're me. And I'm you."

The people who have come to stop you aren't fast enough. They're never fast enough. That's part of the charm of these shows, for us; watching them try to stop the story early, and knowing they won't manage.

"You're not me!" you say to yourself. You say it like you mean it, but you must know that you're lying. Even we can tell.

You throw back your head, and howl. The hood is a halo of blood above you; the cape is a waterfall of blood at your back; the man in the bed fades away, while the trees surge in to do your bidding.

What enormous teeth you have. What fuzzy ears, what big yellow eyes. You are the wolf, and you look down on yourself from where you tower high like the trees.

"I am going to eat you up," you say.

There is a girl in a green jacket standing between you and yourself. A boy with a sword, a girl in red, and oh, they've all come to complicate the issue. It's about to get violent in here. This is the show we tuned in to see.

We hope that this time, you'll win.


End file.
